


Lunch Boxes and Taxicabs

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 20:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15648774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Sometimes strangers steal your cab from right under your nose. And sometimes those strangers aren't strangers anymore.





	Lunch Boxes and Taxicabs

When she meets him, she hates him. And not the playful _I hate you_ that you say when you’re just scared of admitting how deeply you feel about someone who’s annoying you – flirting, the _I hate you_ that you say when you’re flirting. She hates him the way that her blood boils in anger, her head aches in frustration, and her words bite in malice.

 

So maybe he doesn’t deserve her anger, her frustration, her malice, her _hate_. Maybe she met him on a bad day – a no good, horrible, terribly bad day. Maybe she met him on a day that she got fired from her job. A job that barely paid the bills, but at least it paid something. And maybe she met him on a day she found out that her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend to be perfectly clear – got his girlfriend pregnant. His girlfriend who he just happened to be dating while also dating Emma.

 

For two years.

 

Asshole.

 

And maybe she met him on a day where she just wasn’t feeling like she was smart enough, beautiful enough, funny enough, good enough.

 

 _Just, enough_.

 

And maybe he was just in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place at the wrong time, really.

 

Maybe if she had met him on another day, or even just earlier in that same day, she would have found him likable, charming even.

 

Maybe then her first words to him wouldn’t have been _fuck you_ , spitted out with so much venom that she might as well have been a snake. And then maybe she wouldn’t have been so incredibly pissed off when he got the most saccharine smile on his face, eyebrow raised almost in an invitation of sorts, and seductively whispered _please do_ in her ear before getting in the cab he had stolen from her grasp and riding away. Probably off into the sunset or something cheesy like that while she was left standing on a sidewalk in New York holding a cardboard box of her workplace belongings from the past four years.

 

And maybe she would have thought that his blue eyes were stunning, that his scruffy jaw was chiseled in the most perfect way, that his deep British accent was absolutely sinful, and that his smile had the ability to be one of the kindest she had seen in a long time.

 

But maybes don’t count in life. It’s just what happened and what didn’t. No more no less.

 

Living in maybes is sure to drive someone mad.

 

So the maybes don’t matter, but the definitely’s do. And that day Emma definitely lost her job and her cab. She definitely felt like her personal life was spiraling _down down down_. She definitely dropped her box of belongings on the sidewalk when another asshole bumped into her and didn’t apologize, yelling at someone as he talked on his cell phone. And when she bent down to pick up the box, she definitely saw glass shattered throughout it because the frame holding a picture of she and her niece Margot (named after Mary Margaret’s mother and not Mary Margaret apparently), the light of her entire life, had broken when the box crashed against the concrete of the sidewalk.

 

And instead of going home and stuffing her face with the leftover pizza she knew was in the fridge, she started walking toward her brother’s apartment blocks and blocks away. She thought about trying for a cab again, thinking about splurging like she had planned on earlier, but she decided that it would be better to walk. It would keep her occupied, mind and body, if she kept her feet moving against the pavement, step by step. And then maybe she wouldn’t cry over some broken glass on the sidewalk.

 

She felt like that maybe mattered.

 

When she knocked on David and Mary Margaret’s door, sweat pooling at her lower back from the walk and the August heat, she just gave Mary Margaret a brief nod, not answering questions about why she was there in the middle of the day, before walking to Margot’s room and finding the toddler playing with Betsy, a bear that Margot decided looked like a cow on one of her movies. And when Margot turned around and saw Emma, she immediately raised her tiny toddler arms and mumbled out an _Emmy come play with me_ , as Emma picked up her niece and hugged her tight to her chest, like a thirty-five pound lifeline.

 

The day passed with more laughter than Emma could have expected when she walked into the office and was immediately told to go talk to her boss, the word _layoffs_ being whispered as she walked thru the cubicles. But Emma was still Emma, and she liked to stew in her misery for a little while before taking control of her situation and moving on.

 

So when it was time for Margot to nap, Emma wanted to lay down with her and hold her tight to her chest, pretend that the world outside these four walls didn’t exist. But apparently Margot is in some new sleeping arrangement where she has to nap by herself so she’s prepared for naps at preschool, so Mary Margaret drags Emma into the kitchen, sitting her down at the counter and placing a hot chocolate in her hands, demanding her to tell her why she’s here in the middle of the day instead of at work.

 

And that’s when the dam breaks, when the tears stream down her face like a fucking waterfall, and her chest heaves like she _can’t breathe_.

 

She tells Mary Margaret everything. About the job and the ex and the handsome stranger stealing her cab and the shattered glass frame that felt like it shattered her heart. Mary Margaret, being the natural born mom that she is, just listens, only interjects when needed, and at the end, despite how much Emma can tell she wants to, she doesn’t hug her. She just squeezes her bicep reassuringly, soft smile on her face, and she doesn’t tell Emma that it’s going to be alright, even though it is.

 

When David comes home from work it’s to the three of them watching Trolls on the TV, Margot’s favorite movie of the moment despite its frankly disturbing premise. Emma braces herself for David giving her some sort uplifting brotherly speech, but he doesn’t. Doesn’t even comment on her being there when she wasn’t supposed to be, doesn’t comment on the rings of red that have permanently etched themselves around her eyes. He just goes on as if everything is normal, and she thinks _God bless Mary Margaret_ , because she obviously filled him in and instructed him not to say anything.

 

But when it’s time for Margot to go to bed and Emma still hasn’t gone home, Margot asks, in the smallest, most precious voice Emma has ever heard, if _Emmy can sleep with me tonight_. And despite her strict nap rules, both David and Mary Margaret nod their heads yes, giving Emma the affirmation that she can use their daughter as her coping method tonight.

 

Emma ends up not just sleeping with Margot, but giving her a bath and brushing her teeth, wiggling her into little duckling pajamas when they’re finished and brushing her soft hair. And when they’re curled up in bed, Emma on the cusp of sleep way before her usual time, Margot gives Emma a kiss on the nose and tells her _I love you, Emmy,_ and Emma can’t help the single tear that rolls down her cheek as she whispers back _I love you, too_.

 

After two weeks of sitting on her couch, watching what resulted in a frankly ridiculous amount of daytime TV, Emma finds a job as a receptionist at a doctor’s office in a medical office park. She’s honestly not sure how she pulled that one out, but she gets to wear scrubs to work _and_ she gets health insurance. _Good_ health insurance, and she feels like that alone could make her skip down the street.

 

She’s been working there two weeks when she sees him again, the stranger who stole her cab and basically admitted that he would gladly let her jump his bones, even if it was just a passing comment after Emma so very kindly told him off. But he’s there for just a second before he’s gone, and she figures that he must have had an appointment somewhere in office park. She also figures that she’ll most likely never see him again. And that doesn’t cause a miniscule pang in her heart. Not at all.

 

But she does see him the next day. And today’s he’s wearing a white coat over dress pants and a collared shirt, unbuttoned a little too far for a workplace.

 

And holy shit he’s a doctor.

 

And holy shit he’s hot.

 

And holy shit he works in the same office park that Emma does.

 

She becomes fascinated with him from afar, seeing him in the lobby in the mornings or across the street during lunchtime. It’s almost creepy if she thinks about it. But then she wonders if he notices her too. He probably doesn’t. He’s an asshole who stole a cab without a second thought and now she knows that he’s a doctor. So he’s probably an asshole who thinks that he’s better than everyone else because he saves lives for a living and thinks he’s God’s gift to mankind.

 

So she reminds herself that she hates him.

 

But she still watches from afar.

 

And if that tiny, miniscule part of her still wishes that maybe he’d recognize her too, she would never admit it.

 

It goes on like this for awhile, September morphing into October, where she notices him in the mornings, but it never goes beyond that. She goes on with her day, answering phones and explaining for the millionth time that _your copay depends on the type of insurance you have, ma’am_ or telling someone _that they’re more likely to be able to see a doctor if they make an appointment ahead of time, but you’re welcome to wait_.

 

It’s not a dream job, but this scrubs thing is pretty damn great so she won’t complain.

 

She gets into a rhythm and feels like her world has been righted, no longer turned on its side like it was three months ago.

 

Then one day at their regular Saturday lunch, Mary Margaret tells Emma that she’s looking for a new pediatrician for Margot, and Emma recommends the one who works in her office park, as she’s heard great things about them. She doesn’t think anything of it, even when Mary Margaret tells her she made an appointment for Margot to get her shots and a checkup there next week.

 

She does think about it, though, when she gets a call at seven in the morning saying that neither of the Nolans can take their daughter to the appointment that day. David is out on assignment with the precinct, and Mary Margaret’s principal is observing her classroom that day at an undetermined time.

 

She knows that it’s probably killing them to miss being with their daughter while she gets shots – Margot _hates_ shots – so she tells them that she can take her. Margot can stay in the office daycare, and Emma will take her lunch break early, no problem. So Emma picks Margot up from the Nolans at a quarter until eight, and leaves the apartment equip with a giant diaper bag, stroller, and a bubbly two-and-a-half-year-old who can’t stop talking about _going to work with Emmy_.

 

It’s cute and adorable and for a moment it makes Emma long to have her own bubbly two-and-a-half-year-old who instead can’t sop talking about going to work with _mommy_.

 

But she stuffs that thought down because, wow, no Emma.

 

Not right now. Maybe not ever. She also stuffs that thought down.

 

Before she knows it, she’s got Margot in daycare and is readily answering phone calls and helping people fill out insurance forms before they go back to see Dr. Whale.

 

When eleven rolls around, she tells the other receptionist Ashley that she’s got to take her lunch break early to take her niece to the pediatrician two floors up, but she’ll be back soon.

 

While filling out Margot’s forms, she discovers from this receptionist (they really are the keepers of these offices) that the doctor is one Killian Jones, and he went to Emory. She wouldn’t have known this a month ago, but apparently that’s impressive in the doctor world. She files that in the back of her mind. She doesn’t why, but she does.

 

When the nurse calls them back out of the waiting room, Margot has the cutest smile on her face, still telling Emma about her morning so far at daycare, and Emma absolutely hates that Margot is about to be in pain.

 

As the nurse, Eric, a nice young man in scrubs with sailboats on them, starts talking to Margot about what’s about to happen, Emma sees the little girl’s blue eyes go wide in fear. When her tiny lips start to quiver, Emma knows what’s coming.

 

“I don’t wanna, Emmy,” she wails, tears trailing down her face before the needles have even touched the skin of her arm.

 

“Oh baby it’s okay,” Emma comforts, pulling Margot into her arms and rubbing her hands up and down her back, trying to get the salty tears to stop falling.

 

While Margot has her neck cradled in Emma’s neck, Emma looks up at Eric and asks if she can get a placebo shot. She knows that they do them for small children, so she figures they can at least try with Margot.

 

“Margot,” Emma says, voice quiet as she pulls Margot out of her arms, “will you get a shot if Emmy gets a shot? We can be like twins. Matching Minnie Mouse band aids and everything.”

 

Emma’s trying to giver her her most reassuring smile, and she feels out of her league in this whole aunt-ing thing for the first time in a long time – since Margot was teething one night when David and Mary Margaret were on a date, and Emma didn’t know how to make the crying stop.

 

But Margot nods her head, brown pigtails bobbing up and down with her. So, without much incident, but a little bit more crying, Emma and Margot get their shots. True to her word, Eric places matching Minnie Mouse band aids on their arms, and Margot smiles and keeps saying _Emmy and Margot twins_ under her breath.

 

Eric leads them to the exam room where Margot is going to get her check-up, and Emma’s looking at her phone, texting David and Mary Margaret to let them know the shots portion is finished, when the doctor walks in.

 

“Good morning, miss Margot. I’m Dr. Jones,” a deep British accent says, light and cheery. And Emma knows exactly who that voice belongs to before she looks up, even if he’s saying the words kindly instead of seductively whispering words in her ear.

 

So braving the courage, resigned to her fate, she looks up and sees that he’s staring at her, smile on his face. It’s brief, but it’s there. Does he recognize her too?

 

Not that it matters. She hates him anyway.

 

Definitely.

 

Maybe.

 

Maybes don’t matter.

 

“And good morning, mom?” he asks, voice unsure as he looks back to Emma.

 

Emma’s opening her mouth to answer, but it turns out she doesn’t have to because Margot beats her to it. “Nooo, silly,” Margot laughs out in a way that only two-year-olds can. Emma can’t believe she just called the doctor – Dr. Killian Jones apparently – silly. Even if it came out like _silwy_. “This is Emmy, not mommy. I come to work with her.”

 

“Ah,” Dr. Jones – or should she call him Killian in her head? She really doesn’t know – says as he nods his head in understanding, leaning down to be at eye level with Margot on the examination bed. “That sounds like so much fun.” He turns his attention to her, nodding his head at her outfit. “Is Emmy a doctor, too?”

 

Emma scoffs at that, like anyone can believe that she is a doctor. But then again, she is wearing scrubs, so she guesses it could make sense. At least he didn’t just assume she’s a nurse. Not that there’s anything wrong with nurses. They’re fucking awesome. So one point for Gryffindor. Or for Killian Jones. Not that she’s giving him points or ranking him or anything.

 

She realizes she’s been silent for a beat too long and Dr. Jones is still staring at her. She shakes herself out of it, still in slight disbelief that the asshole who stole her cab and also works in her office building is her niece’s pediatrician. And he’s staring at her right now. Wow, his eyes are bluer than she remembered.

 

“I’m Emma Swan,” she says, putting her hand out for Dr. Jones to shake. He takes it, and it’s warm. But she doesn’t want to be weird, so she releases it after a few pumps and goes on talking. “I’m Margot’s aunt.” His eyes flash at that. “And definitely not a doctor, but I work in the building.”

 

“Aye, I see,” he says, moving to grab his iPad from where he had placed it on the counter when he entered. “I believe I’ve seen you around before.”

 

So he has noticed, she thinks, praying that her face doesn’t flush. And she doesn’t know why she keeps bouncing back and forth between thinking this guy is an asshole and wanting him to have noticed her.

 

“Alrighty then,” he says, like she isn’t having this internal war in her head. Oh yeah, he’s probably just doing his job. Good, good. Margot needs a good doctor. “I see that our friend, Miss Margot, has come in today for a DTap shot and just a regular checkup to make sure she’s growing up to be big and strong, right?”

 

He’s got his arm in the air, flexing his bicep when he says the last part, and if she didn’t know that he was doing it make Margot giggle, she would think he was trying to show off his arms under his button down. Because she will admit, they are very nice arms.

 

But that’s not the point, and Margot does giggle, raising her arms to imitate Dr. Jones, and the rest of the appointment goes from there. Margot is growing perfectly well, is perfectly healthy, and is overall just perfect (Dr. Jones’s words, but Emma agrees wholeheartedly).

 

When all is said and done and they’re leaving the examination room, Dr. Jones pulls a jar of child-safe lollipops out of a cabinet and offers one to Margot after confirming that it was okay with Emma. After Margot picks a cherry one, he offers the jar to Emma.

 

She must look at him incredulously because he says, “For your shot, love.”

 

“Wh – what?” she stutters back, distracted by the endearment.

 

“Your shot,” he repeats, nodding to the band aid showing from underneath her shirt sleeve.

 

“Oh, okay,” she says, realizing that Margot is looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to pick a lollipop because she got a shot too. She quickly grabs a cherry one as well, mumbling a _thank you_ to Dr. Jones.

 

He smiles back at her, a closed-lip soft little thing, and she should not be thinking about how attractive her niece’s doctor is. But then he’s giving Margot a high five goodbye, and Margot decides to pull him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck and tightly squeezing. And she can’t help herself. She smiles at him and thinks that this is one of the cutest things she’s ever seen.

 

Eventually, Margot pulls away from him, and Emma picks her up from the exam table, placing her on her hip as she grabs her purse and gets ready to take her back to daycare. She nods her head and says a goodbye to Dr. Jones, thanking him for being so good with Margot.

 

She thinks she’s survived this visit without making an idiot of herself or calling him an asshole for stealing her cab in front of a two-year-old, but then he tells her, “See you around, lass” and she almost trips on the carpet and tries to figure out how she’s going to not fall on top of her niece.

 

The rest of her day goes by without incident, and after she takes Margot home, she gets back to her apartment and fixes herself a sandwich, munching on it while she pulls out her laptop to watch Netflix. A part of her wants to google this Killian Jones, but she decides against, figuring she doesn’t need to know anything. She’s probably never going to speak to him again anyway.

 

She somehow knows it’s a lie, but she thinks it anyway.

 

Sure enough, the next day she’s eating lunch in the courtyard outside of the office. She’s at a table by herself, reading through social media, and stirring the pasta leftovers she brought to work with her, when she sees someone slide onto the bench across from her.

 

“Hello, Swan.” He greets, white teeth on display and eyes crinkled.

 

“Swan?” she asks, curious as to why he’s calling her by her last name.

 

“Aye, Swan,” he confirms, nodding his head. When she doesn’t say anything else, he realizes why she inferred about him calling her by his last name, he opens his eyes wide in understanding, eyebrows going up his forehead. “Sorry about that, _Emma Swan_.” He enunciates both names, like he’s not sure what to call her. “I’m so used to calling people in my office by their last names to get their attention and patient’s parents by their last names that it’s just force of habit to call anyone over four feet tall by their surname.”

 

“Ah,” she says, nodding her head in understanding, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “I kind of like it, _Jones_.” This isn’t weird at all.

 

He laughs, smiling at her like it’s totally normal for them to be sitting here having a conversation while she eats lunch. “Well, Swan,” he continues, “I like Jones and all, but I hear that approximately 800 times a day. So Killian will do.”

 

She has no idea what’s happening right now. She has no idea why he’s talking to her, why he even remembers her name. Or how he even found her out here.

 

Well, that last one is pretty obvious. He knows she works in the building, and she’s sitting in a courtyard used by all of the employees if they don’t want to go far for lunch or don’t want to eat in the break room. So it’s really not that weird that he found her. He was probably eating lunch too. What’s weird is that he felt the need to come and sit with her, like he knows her.

 

“Okay, Killian,” she finally replies, taking a bite out of her pasta to give herself some more time to come up with something to say. “You on your lunch break?” Nope, not her best work. That was bad. So, so bad that she wants to crawl into her scrub top.

 

He doesn’t miss a beat though, going on with conversation like she isn’t this awkward. “Just finishing, actually,” he says, eyes moving to the lunchbox on table. When did he put that there?

 

“Is that a Peter Pan lunch box?” She asks, trying to keep herself from laughing.

 

“Aye, what of it, love?” He’s looking at her like he can’t believe she’s even questioning why a grown man has a child’s lunchbox.

 

“Nothing. Just noticing it is all.”

 

He stares at her for a moment more, like he’s studying her, and she squirms a little at the intensity of his glare. “It was a gift from one of my patients,” he tells her, folding his hands together on top of the table. “Little boy named Andrew. We had a conversation about Peter Pan once, and apparently he told his mom that he ‘just had to get Dr. Jones a lunchbox like him’ next time he came to the office.”

 

“That’s really sweet,” she smiles, looking back up at him, and all she can really see is the blue of his eyes contrasted against the dark hair of his beard. “You’re really good with kids, which, I guess you have to be for your job, but Margot couldn’t stop telling her parents about Dr. Jones when she got home.”

 

“How is little Miss Margot?” he asks, and she’s not surprised by the genuine smile on his face. A part of her wants to ask if he remembers her from the cab, but she doubts that he would remember such a small incident from months ago so she leaves it be.

 

“Great! Super proud of her battle scars.”

 

“And you, Swan?”

 

“What about me?” she questions as he scratches behind his ear, almost like a nervous tick.

 

“Are you ‘super proud’ of your battle scars?”

 

She knows he’s talking about her “shot” wound, but the way he asks it makes it seem like he’s asking for her life story, for all the battles and resulting scars that have made her who she is. Like he wants to know her.

 

But that’s ridiculous, so she just lets out a little chuckle at this man that she can’t quite believe she’s having a conversation with. “I like to think I’m pretty badass, so I think I’m holding up about as well as Margot.”

 

He lets out a laugh at that, a big belly, lean back and throw your head back laugh. She’s surprised by it, but she’s not going to complain. His laugh is a beautiful sound.

 

Woah, calm down girl. You thought this man was an asshole until yesterday. Of course, she has never _really_ spoken to him until yesterday. Everything was based on one experience, so she could be wrong. It could be an outlier day. She was having an outlier day. But it was still a dick move.

 

When he finishes laughing, he just smiles at her, and she kind of wants to squirm in her skin again. But then he’s standing from his seat, and she’s wondering why he’s leaving.

 

Woah, down girl again.

 

“It’s been nice talking with you, love,” he tells her, stepping out from the bench and grabbing his stupid (charming) lunch box, “but I have a patient in five minutes, so I must go.”

 

“It’s been nice talking to you, too, Killian.”

 

He just nods his head and walks away. And if she stares at his ass in his dress pants as he goes, no one but her has to know.

 

She doesn’t see him the next day, in the lobby in the morning or at lunch. Of course, she eats at her desk, working through lunch so she can go home early and have a long weekend.

 

On Monday, the weather is perfect, as October shifts into November, leaves completely changed from shades of green to shades of red and orange. It’s a little chilly, so she’s got a cardigan with her. She probably looks like a grandmother with her scrubs and oversized cardigan, hair pulled back in a messy bun on the top of her head and thick glasses perched on her nose. But she doesn’t care. She’s comfortable, and today is a good day.

 

A part of her isn’t even surprised when Killian sits across from her at lunch, Peter Pan lunch box in hand. She’s only slightly surprised when he sits across from her on Tuesday and Wednesday. A part of her wants to stay inside on Thursday, to not take the chance on spending time with him. She likes it – she likes him – and that _terrifies_ her. But she sucks it up, and no part of her is surprised when he joins her on that day or the next.

 

Or the next. Or the next. Or the next.

 

It becomes a thing, a thing she looks forward to more than she would ever admit.

 

She learns that he’s thirty three years old and moved from just outside London to the states when he was twenty two to go to medical school at Emory in Atlanta (she knew that) and moved to New York to do his residency after graduating. Technically the practice he works at isn’t even his, his name is just on the door because the doctor who started it, doesn’t work anymore, but he still owns the practice and lets Killian run it. He tells her that decided to be a pediatrician because he, too, has a niece, a little girl named Carolyn, who looks just like his brother. Apparently he has a brother, too.

 

Eventually they move beyond the basics, and she learns the little things about him. That he’s an _extremely_ healthy eater, always eating grilled chicken or grilled fish and some sort of cooked vegetable or fresh fruit. He also apparently cooks, hence where he gets all the healthy food. He’s a tad bit obsessive and also a bit of a clean freak. Says his apartment would look like no one lives in it if it wasn’t for his personal items.

 

He wakes up early to run six times a week, only resting on Sundays to sleep in, which she thinks is absolutely insane. He’s got a thing for 80’s music and apparently wanted to be in a band when he lived in England.

 

He’s funny, too, with his dry sense of humor mixed in with his innuendos, and she wonders how many times she’s blushed when he flirts with her. Because he does flirt with her. She knows that, recognizes all the signs and how sometimes he’ll scratch behind his ear when he tells her something like _you like nice today, love._ And other times he’ll make a joke that’s basically about her ass, and he won’t even blink.

 

In return to him sharing all of this information with her, she shares with him too. It’s surprising how much she’s comfortable sharing, but this is kind of a surprising friendship. Is that what this is? Friendship? Definitely, she thinks.

 

She tells him that she’s twenty seven, definitely hasn’t gone to school like he has, as she’s a receptionist at a doctor’s office. She tells him she worked at an insurance company before, basically just logging numbers into an excel spreadsheet and running office errands, and that she was a waitress before that. She’s lived in New York for most of her life, bounced around in foster homes until she found out she had an older brother who was ten years older than her, and he and his wife became her legal guardians when she was fifteen.

 

“And those are Margot’s parents?” he asks, taking a bite out of his steamed squash.

 

“Yep,” she answers back, taking a bite out of some chips she bought earlier.

 

So he learns that she’s not a healthy eater, but she does like fruit so she probably won’t die too young. And she also likes to box and go for runs, but not quite as often as he does. She also very rarely would wake up early to do it, preferring the evenings after work. Subsequently, no part of her apartment is neat, clothes scattering her bedroom floor.

 

They don’t talk about those past battle scars, though she can tell he has some, just like she does. Instead they just talk about their days and let the conversation flow.

 

November morphs into December, and it becomes too cold for them to sit outside, so they find a bench on the second floor that’s rarely occupied. December passes quickly, and he tells her that his office will be closed for three days for Christmas, while she only gets the one day off. So on December 23rd, his last day of work until after Christmas, she finds him on their (did she just refer to it as theirs?) bench with a wrapped present in his hand.

 

He doesn’t even say anything or look at her, just thrusts the box toward her and smiles shyly, eyelashes black against the red of his cheeks.

 

“What’s this?” she asks like she’s an idiot who doesn’t know it’s a Christmas present.

 

He finally looks up at her, smile on his face. “It’s a gift, love.”

 

“But I didn’t get you anything.” She’s great at this conversation thing.

 

“I know,” he tells her, smile growing wide, “but I didn’t expect you to. I just saw this and thought it would be a nice gift.”

 

She eventually figures out how to move her legs and sits on the bench next him, shoulder brushing his, and she feels like her face is going to be as red as Santa’s suit.

 

“Open it, Swan,” he tells her, nudging his knee against hers in encouragement.

 

So she does.

 

“Oh my God.”

 

She’s laughing hysterically, and she thinks that was the reaction he wanted because he’s got the brightest grin on her face, lines around his eyes crinkling in the most adorable way.

 

And it’s at that moment, sitting on a bench on the second floor of their office building, holding a Peter Pan lunch box, an exact replica of the one he carries, that she realizes that she _likes_ Killian.

 

Really likes him.

 

In some sort of big, emotional way.

 

And she has no idea what to do about it.

 

So she just goes on with their lunch, talking about their Christmas plans – his family is coming from London to visit, and she’s spending it with the Nolans – and when it’s over, instead of just parting ways with a quick hug or a wave, Killian leans in and kisses her cheek, whispering a _Merry Christmas, Emma_ against her cheek.

 

She realizes it’s the first time he’s called her Emma.

 

The holidays pass – Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, whatever else you want – and they continue getting lunch together, moving back out to their table when March rolls in.

 

She thinks that she’ll just have to suffer in this state of _liking_ Killian – like a schoolchild – for the rest of her life, but then he texts her one day and asks if she’d like to come to his birthday party. He says he didn’t want one, as he’s turning 34 and it’s a little weird to have a birthday party, but some of his friends insisted on them going out.

 

So when she shows up in a little black leather dress, hair pulled up in a high ponytail with her lips painted red, she thinks that this is the first time Killian has seen her out of scrubs or jeans and a sweater on the occasional day that they’ve gone out to dinner or to see a movie. And this makes her nervous, that he will think she looks ridiculous in her dress and her heels or something like that.

 

But then she sees him, looking insanely good in tight black jeans and dark blue button up, top buttons undone just a little too far, letting his chest hair show, and she forgets for a second that she was nervous.

 

Just a second, though.

 

Because it’s like he can sense her presence in the room, or something ridiculous like that, and her eyes meet his, But not before his eyes trail up her legs to her waist, to her chest, to her bare shoulders, to her red lips, and the finally to her eyes. Even from her spot across the room, she can tell that he appreciates the way she looks, that he might her desire her the way she desires him.

 

She’s stuffing that thought down, into the deep recesses of her mind with things like high school calculus, as she makes her way over to him. He meets her halfway, and in a brave moment, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and whispers _happy birthday, Killian_ in his ear.

 

She can feel him shiver against her, but then the moment is broken when Dr. Whale – Killian is friends with her boss, which isn’t weird at all – interrupts saying he’s going to buy the birthday boy shots. Killian doesn’t drink any - _I’ve got to see patients at ten, love_ \- and she doesn’t either - _I have the day off, but I’m watching Margot in the afternoon –_ and that kind of feels like a sign. She just doesn’t know what it’s for quite yet.

 

Killian sticks by her side the entire night, and he can’t stop touching her. It’s driving her insane, all the little touches that would normally be friendly but feel anything but with how much skin she has exposed to him.

 

There’s always a hand on her lower back when they’re standing, fingers brushing against her collarbone as his arm is wrapped around shoulder when they’re sitting in a booth talking to Killian’s friends. And when his hand lands on her knee late in the night, and it slowly makes its way up to her thigh, she thinks that she’s just stopped breathing entirely.

 

The whole night is like torture in the most delicious way, and when they split a cab on the way home, Killian’s leather jacket wrapped around her shoulders, they get to his place first. He asks her if she wants to come up for coffee – it’s past midnight – and she says yes.

 

When she walks in, it’s not as big as she imagined, just a normal apartment that looks like a single man lives in it. He leaves her to walk around, exploring the personal touches and pictures, seeing many of Liam and his family, Killian with fellow doctors at med school graduation.

 

But she’s surprised to see one with her from the day the two of them took Margot to the park together, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and smile bright as she took the picture with her phone. It’s in a frame – the exact frame she bought to replace the one she broke on the day she first “met” Killian, and she barks out a laugh that’s far too loud for the quietness of the apartment.

 

“Something funny, love?” He’s walking back out of what she assumes is his bedroom, plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips, chest bare, and glasses on his nose. She loves when he wears his glasses, much like he’s said he loves when she wears hers.

 

He’s got what seems to be another pair of pants and a t-shirt folded in his arms, and she realizes that he means for her to sleep in them.

 

So she takes them from his grasp and cradles them to her chest as she explains why she was laughing at the photo frame, finally deciding that she wants to talk about their first encounter.

 

“So on the day I got fired from my last job,” she starts, figuring it’s easiest to just start from the beginning, “I was in this pretty dark place. Obviously upset about not having a job. And you know about the ex and the mistress and the baby. So that was just, like, a double whammy. So I decide that I’m going to take a cab home, splurge a little and avoid the subway.” He’s staring at her expressionless, just nodding his head to let her know to keep going. “And I hail a cab on my first try, kind of like they do in the movies. And this asshole cuts me off and gets in my cab. And I tell him fuck you, and he has the audacity to say - …”

 

“Please do,” Killian finishes, face still expressionless.

 

“You remember that?” she asks, completely blown away because she figured he’d never remember that.

 

“Aye, not my finest moment, love” he admits, moving to sit on the couch. “Felt bloody horrible about it for the longest time. Wished I could have apologized even if the lass did tell me to fuck off.” He’s smiling at her now, and she really just cannot believe that this is her life right now. “But then luck would have it that the same beautiful, fierce lass walked into my office with the sweetest little girl and matching Minnie Mouse band aids. And I never did apologize with the words, love, but I like to think I’ve redeemed myself.”

 

He looks so hopeful, like they haven’t spent the last six months forming the best friendship she has ever had. He looks like he’s scared that she’s mad at him, that she really has been holding a grudge over him stealing a taxi out from under her all this time.

 

She can’t take it anymore, the fact that this crazy, wonderful, beautiful man is sitting right in front of her, and she’s not kissing him.

 

So she does.

 

She walks over to him with confidence she’s never felt before in her entire life, straddling his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, and presses her lips into his in a kiss that is far too dirty to be a first kiss.

 

It goes on for what feels like ages, a warring of lips and teeth and tongues – god the tongues – but when he pulls back, she feels like she hasn’t had enough, can never get enough. She doesn’t know why he’s pulled back, but then he takes his glasses off – he can still see without them thank you very much – and she realizes that’s the smartest move the man has ever made.

 

Scratch that.

 

Him picking her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as she kisses down his neck, - hot, open mouthed kisses that she can tell are driving him crazy– and carrying her to his bedroom is the smartest move the man has ever made.

 

He sets her down on the ground, moving to unzip her dress. When it falls to the ground, she can tell that he’s surprised she doesn’t have a bra on. But hey, it doesn’t work with the dress. And the look on his face is just an added bonus.

 

A wonderful, wonderful bonus.

 

He comes at her like an animal, growling as he kisses her again and pushes her back against his bed, her hair flowing out from underneath her head. He’s kissing her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her collarbones, _that_ spot behind her ear, and finally she can’t take it anymore, body on fire.

 

“Killian,” she wines out as his lips suck on one of her nipples, her hips canting into his.

 

“Yes, love?” he asks in what she can tell is his most seductive voice after he finishes bringing her nipple to its peak.

 

She’s incredibly turned on right now, thinks that her body may combust if he’s not inside her in the next second, but she cant help but giggle a little when she asks her next question.

 

“Fuck you?”

 

He chuckles at her, moving up to give her lips a sweet kiss, much more innocent than anything they’ve been doing in the past few minutes.

 

“Please do.”

 

In the morning, she wakes up next to just the most wonderful man, a man she thought she hated after knowing him for fifteen seconds.

 

But after six months of being friends and one month of dating, she tells him she loves him for the first time. She thinks that his smile has never been so bright as he says _I love you, Emma, more than I ever thought possible_.

 

But she’s wrong. He smiles brighter when she tells him that she’s decided to go back to school to be a nurse. She tells him it’s just the two-year degree to be an ADN, but he doesn’t care. He’s just so bloody proud of her for doing what makes her happy.

 

And she thinks that the smile on that day is the most beautiful smile in the world.

 

But she’s wrong again.

 

Because the most beautiful smile in the world is the smile on his face when she graduates with that two-year degree three and a half years later, tiny little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes in his arms in the audience – hence the delayed graduation – and ring on his left ring finger matching the one on hers.

 

She thinks that’s the most beautiful smile in the world. And when he hands her another present, much like he’s done a million times before, she’s not even surprised to find that it’s a photo of their little family on the day of their daughter’s birth in that same picture frame as before.

 

And while the first words they said to each other are phrases not repeated unless in the privacy of their bedroom, they’ve changed them around just enough to be right.

 

“Love you,” she whispers against his lips, kissing him quickly before taking her daughter into her arms, chubby little arms flailing to hold onto her momma’s neck.

 

“Please do,” Killian whispers right back.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this!
> 
>  
> 
> I'd just like to say that I'm really blown away by the response to this story! I haven't written much of anything in a long time, but I couldn't sleep the other night and this just kind of...happened. So it really means a lot to me that it could bring a little happiness to so many people :)


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